Chapter XIII

W atford was a pleasant collection of comfortable homes, pleasant shops, and even an inn or two, perhaps double the size of Meryton. As Bingley looked out the window at the town, he nodded with satisfaction, knowing this was taking him closer to Miss Bennet. The lessening physical distance was welcome, but what was more important at the moment was retrieving Miss de Bourgh from the clutches of whatever libertine had spirited her away. When that business was complete, he could return to Netherfield and visit Longbourn at his leisure, taking all the time needed to prove to Miss Bennet that he was a man she could trust to care for her as a husband.

At Darcy's house, Bingley had felt wracked with uncertainty, for he had been absent from Hertfordshire for over six months, to say nothing of the despicable rudeness of his sisters to Miss Bennet. Had he considered his chances of persuading her then, he might have offered odds of no better than one in three that she would forgive him. All that had changed, however, both from the optimism that arose as the distance between them diminished, but also because of what his companions had said while Lady Catherine slept, oblivious to the serious impediment to her plans.

Bingley supposed he should be angry at the suffering Miss Bennet had endured—indeed, for a short time after he had laughed at Fitzwilliam's confession of what he had said to Miss Elizabeth, Bingley had wondered if he should not take offense. The fact of the matter was that it was amusing if one did not consider how very pathetic it all was. Had Darcy or Fitzwilliam been to blame for Miss Bennet's tears, he might have reacted quite differently. However, while Darcy had added his opinion when asked and Caroline and Louisa had behaved in a proud, if not underhanded manner, Bingley knew he bore a large share of the blame himself.

All these ruminations and conversations led Bingley to hope more than he felt he had the right. Miss Bennet was a true jewel among women, and Bingley was fortunate he had found her. Given what Miss Elizabeth had said to his friend about her sister's feelings, Bingley could not imagine she still existed in depressed spirits if she were indifferent to him. While her tears tore at his heart, they were perhaps the greatest reason for hope. Not that she would not make him work to prove himself. That was the greatest blessing, however, for Bingley knew this incident had changed him. Becoming the man she could trust would serve him well in the future, for a man must act with conviction if he were to care for his family. Bingley meant to become that man.

As Bingley was considering Miss Bennet, the future, and life in general, the carriage slowed and finally came to a stop near several large buildings of business. A man, it appeared, was waving to them, by his livery one of Darcy's footmen. When the carriage finally shuddered to a halt, the jolt startled Lady Catherine into full awareness.

"Have we arrived? Where is Anne!"

"This is Watford, Lady Catherine," said Fitzwilliam, not withholding a grin. "A man in Darcy's employ seems to believe we shall find something interesting here."

"Very well," said Lady Catherine, her imperious nature once again coming to the fore. "Be quick about it, Fitzwilliam. I mean to depart again at once."

"Your wish is my command."

The quip did not seem to affect Lady Catherine, for she glared at them all until they descended from the carriage, not deigning to alight herself. Bingley stretched his back, grateful to be out of the close confines of the carriage, noting that Fitzwilliam and Darcy, men taller than he, were doing the same. At once, however, Darcy approached the man who had flagged them down to speak with him.

"What have you found?"

"There are several people who saw them pass through the town, but the best witness is the blacksmith."

Gesturing to the shop, the footman led them inside, where they felt the heat of the forge and heard a man hammering away at a piece of red-hot metal. He was a brutish sort, standing squat and shorter than Bingley, but half again as wide, with massive shoulders and cords of thick, ropey muscle bulging underneath the rough smock he wore. The garment, weathered and old, scorched in places, like the beard the man wore, appeared uneven and worn like he was himself. His domain, however, was tidy, each implement of his trade stowed in its proper place, all showing years of use but in good condition.

"Dinna come closer," snarled the man without looking up as he deftly hammered away at the implement, flipping it several times as he beat it into shape. "Ye dinna wanta git yer fine clothes singed. I'll be wit ye in a trice."

Grateful, as the heat was already uncomfortable several feet from the roaring flames, Bingley stopped along with his companions, awaiting the man's pleasure. For several more moments the blacksmith continued with his work, his movements economical and precise, showing years of practice and understanding. Several times he pulled the implement up and sighted down its length, presumably to ensure it was straight, before laying it down on the anvil and hammering away again.

At length, he nodded with satisfaction and thrust his work into a nearby barrel, the rush of steam escaping the quenching did not him not at all. Then he turned and approached, wiping his hands on a grubby cloth he had stuffed inside his belt at his waist. It was clear as he eyed his visitors that he had no liking for gentlemen, but for all that, he appeared respectful.

"Now," said he, "ye ‘ave come to ask me questions, yes?"

"We have, my good man," said Fitzwilliam. He did not bother to introduce them, seeming to sense this man took little thought for the social niceties, instead turning to the task at hand. "I understand you have some information for us concerning a carriage that passed through town earlier today. It carried a young woman of perhaps five and twenty, slender with dark hair and blue eyes. We cannot be certain of her companion, but it may have been a tall man, perhaps as tall as my friend," Fitzwilliam gestured to Bingley, "with wavy dark hair and a cocksure attitude."

The blacksmith roared with laughter. "Aye, the be ‘im alright! A right prick ‘e was, goin' on about me slowness."

He shook his head with disdain. "They stopped ‘ere after noon. The ‘orse ‘ad a loose shoe, ‘e did. The driver, ‘e was friendly enough, but the gent was snooty and sharp. There was a lady, but she dinna speak none. Looked like a waif, she did, like a stiff wind would blow ‘er away."

Fitzwilliam looked at Darcy and nodded. "That is them without a doubt. Can you tell me where they went after they left?"

"The road north, I reckon," said the blacksmith, reaching behind to scratch his posterior. "Made out of ‘ere like a regiment of soldiers was on their tails they did."

"Excellent," said Fitzwilliam, satisfaction oozing from him. "Then we thank you for your time and your timely intelligence, good sir. Please take this for your trouble."

A few coins exchanged hands, and the blacksmith looked down to inspect what Fitzwilliam had given him. It met his approval, for he looked up and nodded shortly. He said nothing further, returning to his work and retrieving the long piece of metal from the barrel, and before they left the shop, the banging of his hammer on the anvil had begun again.

"Well?" asked Fitzwilliam when they stepped from the shop, eyeing his cousin with a knowing look.

"It appears you were correct about Wickham's identity," acknowledged Darcy, much to Bingley's amusement. "Yet we are still uncertain about their path. They might pass through Luton and avoid Meryton altogether."

"Thank you, Cousin," said Fitzwilliam. "For the first, it was a simple matter of deductive reasoning and one about which I had little doubt. Yet it is good to have confirmation. For the second, Meryton is near enough to the road to Luton that we can detour there and lose little time if I am wrong."

Darcy nodded but turned to his waiting footman. "Where is the search concentrated at present?"

"Three men have gone north toward Luton," reported the man. "One of them will make for Meryton according to the colonel's instructions, and the others will continue north. Several others made for Stevenage."

"Good," said Darcy. "Follow along behind as we travel. We should reach Meryton in about ninety minutes."

"Very good sir," said the footman.

"I suppose we should rejoin the old bat," said Fitzwilliam, "for she will berate us soon if we do not."

There were few things that Bingley wished to do less than return to the cramped confines of the carriage with a bitter virago. He went along willingly, knowing that she would be asleep again before long, and each mile was taking them closer to his reunion with Miss Bennet.

As Darcy might have predicted, Lady Catherine wasted no time in demanding an account of what they had found when they entered the coach. They had not even found their seats or closed the door before she opened her mouth.

"Well? Where is Anne? Have you found where she has gone?"

"We have word of their passage," said Fitzwilliam, as Darcy closed the door, allowing the carriage to be off.

"And?" demanded Lady Catherine.

"It appears we have the scent of our quarry, for they passed this way earlier this afternoon. The woman in the carriage was most definitely Anne. The description of the man with her matches that of one George Wickham."

Lady Catherine's eyes burned icy fire as she turned to Darcy. "This time, that miserable cur will not escape our wrath, Darcy," spat she. "You should have dealt with him years ago. Now he has run off with your betrothed, and I mean to see him in hell."

"Trust me, Aunt," said Darcy, ignoring her comment about Anne's status, "I will no longer allow Wickham to do as he will."

Though Aunt Catherine watched him for a long moment, she finally gave a regal nod and returned her attention to Fitzwilliam. "Then where are we bound for now?"

"The road north to Luton," said Fitzwilliam. "Meryton is near enough to the road that it will not be a significant delay to go there. As we have some confirmation Anne's company is Wickham, it is greater proof that he means to go there."

"Very well," said Lady Catherine, appearing to think she was being magnanimous. "Your assertions regarding the identity of Mr. Wickham have proven correct, so we will do it your way.

"Now, Darcy," continued she, "we must speak of what we will do when we retrieve Anne, for we must be swift to ensure there is no damage to her reputation. When we have her, we will return to London and your house at once, and there we will draft an announcement to the papers for your approaching nuptials. You may marry by license, and it must be soon. A common license would do, but a special license would be better. I shall speak to my brother about procuring one."

On and on Lady Catherine droned, instructing Darcy on how it would be when they arrived in London, planning every aspect of his life without even asking his opinion. If it were not so like Lady Catherine, Darcy might have thought to take offense. As it was, the lady had the bit in her mouth and was not about to be moved from her course. There would be time enough to correct her when this business was complete.

Seated by her side, Fitzwilliam listened to Lady Catherine's indefatigable conversation with as little amusement as Darcy did himself. Once, however, when he saw Darcy looking at her with annoyance, he caught Darcy's eye and gave his head a minute shake. Darcy had not considered responding to her, but he was curious about what Fitzwilliam meant by it. In time, nature took its course and even Lady Catherine's need to pontificate could not overcome the soporific effects of the carriage. It was half an hour longer than Darcy expected, but soon she replaced speaking with snoring, leaving three men relieved by her unconsciousness.

"I must hand it to you both," said Bingley, "for you endure her ways rather well. Even Caroline—even my aunt Beatrice, who can go on for hours when the mood strikes her—are not so inexorable as your excellent aunt."

"Inexorable, yes," said Fitzwilliam. "Excellence is another matter entirely."

Amusing though the quip was, none of them laughed at it, for it was all too apropos. To think they must endure her for several more days in the cramped carriage if they did not catch Wickham before. Darcy did not know how they would avoid her driving them to distraction.

"What did you mean by warning me to silence?" asked Darcy.

"It appeared you were about to put her in her place," replied Fitzwilliam. "As I prefer to avoid the ringing in my ears that would result from Lady Catherine's shrieks at your defiance, I acted to prevent you."

Bingley snorted, but Darcy only shook his head. "I had no thought of doing so, for I am as well acquainted with her and my need to preserve my hearing is as acute as yours. You had some other reason to wish me to remain silent."

Fitzwilliam shrugged. "It does little good to argue with her. Should the worst come to pass, and we must save Anne's reputation by marrying her off, I shall be the one to sacrifice myself."

"You wish to marry Anne?" asked Darcy with a frown.

"Anne is not diseased, Darcy," reproved Fitzwilliam.

"Of course, she is not," retorted Darcy. "Anne is my cousin and I hold her in the highest affection. And this is despite my difficulty speaking to her when Lady Catherine sees everything I say as tantamount to an offer of marriage. I am only asking after your meaning."

"Very well," replied Fitzwilliam. "I thought it was clear, but I shall tell you. You, Darcy, have no wish to marry Anne, and she has no wish to marry you. You have a lady love you still need to convince to take you on, and you do not need the question of Lady Catherine's assertions to drag you down.

" I , on the other hand, do not possess your advantage of wealth and must marry with the position and wealth of the woman in mind, or else I lose my lifestyle. I am fond of Anne, and I think she is of me. This business of Lady Catherine pushing her on you is nonsense, as I am the more logical one to marry her if she must marry in the family."

"It makes sense," said Bingley.

"It does," conceded Darcy. "But I wonder if you comprehend what you are taking on. Do you truly wish to endure Lady Catherine as a mother-in-law?"

Lady Catherine snorted loudly, sending them all into quiet laughter. "It appears even Lady Catherine agrees with you!" cried Bingley.

"Aye, she does at that," replied Fitzwilliam. "In answer to your question, Darcy, I can endure Lady Catherine as a mother-in-law. To own the truth, I think I am more capable of it than you , simply because you are far more patient than I am. You would endure her; I will tell her to be silent and sit in the corner like a naughty child."

"That is an amusing image, indeed!" Bingley again exclaimed.

"Thank you, old man," said Fitzwilliam. "I do try."

Argument, it appeared, was less than fruitless in the present circumstance. Fitzwilliam appeared determined, and it made some sense. Darcy also had some notion that the earl would approve of his son's scheme, and the countess would endorse it with enthusiasm, as it would see her younger son resign from the army and take up the life of a gentleman. As she had often fretted for his safety, she would think it the perfect solution.

"You will likely need to involve your father," said Darcy. "Lady Catherine will not take well to you or I directing her in this."

"Then that is what we shall do." Fitzwilliam shrugged. "To own the truth, Mother has commented on the possibility several times, and Father has not opposed the notion. I will not force Anne to the altar—I merely suggest this as a solution should word of her escapade reach the ears of society."

Darcy nodded and allowed the matter to rest.

Elizabeth had never known Mrs. Bennet to be a mothering sort of woman. Her nerves too often interfered with any mothering instinct she might have had, and her youngest was a girl who wished to appear mature beyond her years, and thus did not welcome any such attention. Elizabeth did not recall many instances of a mothering instinct in the woman from her childhood, for more often the maids or Mrs. Hill soothed bruised shins or scraped knees than her mother.

It was thus something of a shock when Mrs. Bennet mothered Anne excessively from the moment the Bennet sisters descended the stairs after becoming acquainted. She asked after Anne's comfort, plied her with cakes and tea, fussed over her, and questioned the girls minutely about what they would offer her to wear for the next few days, or her bedclothes for that evening. Elizabeth was not the only sister to witness this, for her sisters were dumbfounded by the changes that had come over her.

"I am quite comfortable, Mrs. Bennet," answered Anne after Mrs. Bennet asked if she required more cushions behind her back for perhaps the fourth time. "Your house is lovely, and nothing is wanting."

"That is well," said Mrs. Bennet dubiously. "Longbourn cannot boast the appointments of your home in Kent, but it is a cozy house, and we are proud of it."

"As you have a right to be," said Anne warmly.

Mrs. Bennet beamed and began nattering about some other matter she deemed important. Ignoring her, Elizabeth watched Anne trying to puzzle her out. Certain events at Rosings Park along with comments she had made since arriving at Longbourn proved Anne possessed a haughty streak that would make her mother proud. None of that was on display, however, though Anne seemed to enjoy Mrs. Bennet's attention, even as she protested her comfort. As Lady Catherine was not a mothering sort herself—except perhaps in the fashion a dragon lorded over her whelps—perhaps Anne was enjoying the novel experience of having an older woman behave as a mother toward her. The more she thought of it, the more the notion made sense. That did not mean all was calm and pleasant between the ladies; Elizabeth could have predicted the author of the discord had she given the matter any thought.

Lydia, though she had been outwardly pleasant to Anne, had watched her carefully, as if looking for some sort of blemish she could exploit. That she waited until Mrs. Bennet left the room on some errand or another was not lost on anyone who remained. The subject of her comments was no less than laughable, though only one who was as self-blind as Lydia could have missed the obvious.

"How can you account for your actions, Miss de Bourgh?"

Anne looked at Lydia curiously, not understanding her question. "If you will pardon me, Miss Lydia, I have no notion of what you mean. Perhaps you should clarify."

Lydia huffed with annoyance. "Why, this business with Mr. Wickham, of course. What possessed you to run off with him?"

There was a long delay before Anne responded, her attention fixed on Lydia as if trying to puzzle her out. "My reasons I shall keep to myself," said Anne at length, much to Lydia's dissatisfaction. "Have you not felt the effects of his persuasion?"

"Mr. Wickham is most decidedly a bounder, Miss de Bourgh," said Lydia with a haughty sniff that might have done Lady Catherine proud. "I knew for many months that he is not to be trusted. Why, he fixed his attention on a young lady of the neighborhood not long after she inherited ten thousand pounds!"

"Yes, I heard mention of this," said Anne, glancing at Elizabeth. Had Elizabeth not been glaring holes in her youngest sister, she might have smiled. "Yet I have not had the benefit of observing Mr. Wickham."

"Then you should have been even more on your guard," said Lydia.

"I cannot but own that you are correct," said Anne pleasantly. "Please answer this question, Miss Lydia: if Mr. Wickham turned his charm on you, would you have resisted him?"

"Of course!" sniffed Lydia. "It was clear to anyone with eyes to see that he is not a good man."

The snort of contempt came from the one sister Elizabeth would not have thought willing to go against Lydia. "That is rich, coming from you, Lydia," jibed Kitty. "For did you not flutter your eyelashes at Wickham at his mere appearance today? Were you not willing to tell him anything if only he would direct his winsome smile at you?"

"There is the matter of your information to the gentleman about where we had gone, Lydia," said Elizabeth, fixing her sister with a pointed glare.

"Now, let us not be hasty," said Anne, again appearing little affected by Lydia's rudeness. "Mr. Wickham might have learned of my location from others had he investigated. Miss Lydia could not imagine the situation and did not need to withhold the information from Mr. Wickham."

"On the contrary," said Kitty, still glaring at her sister, who returned it tenfold, "I knew something was amiss and counseled Lydia to not inform Mr. Wickham. That Lizzy and Jane were escorting you away was enough to inform me that not all was as it should be. Lydia should have known that as well as I did."

"The salient point," interrupted Elizabeth when Lydia appeared poised to retort, "was that we all can claim the distinction of serving as prey to Mr. Wickham's lies. If you will recall, he told me pretty tales of Mr. Darcy, and I believed them without question."

"Is that so?" asked Anne, casting an interested look on Elizabeth. "I do not believe you told me of this, Elizabeth."

"It does not signify, Anne," replied Elizabeth. "There is little enough reason to argue between ourselves, for there is some error to be attributed to us all. Only Jane remained unaffected by his gentlemanly manners, for she advised me in November to take care in bestowing my trust."

"I believe I was as compelled by his pretty manners as you were, Lizzy," said Jane quietly.

"We all were."

They turned as one to see Mr. Bennet watching them, his wife nearby, fluttering her handkerchief in some distress. Depending on how long she had watched them, she might have heard Lydia's accusations, though Elizabeth was unaccustomed to her mother maintaining the control to remain silent that long.

"Lizzy is correct," continued Mr. Bennet. "Mr. Wickham's pretty manners deluded us all to some extent. There is no reason to throw a shade at anyone else when we were all taken in."

The significant look Mr. Bennet shot at Lydia suggested that he, at least, had heard something of the conversation and did not appreciate it. In true Lydia fashion, she shrugged and brushed it off with little further thought. Thereafter the girl was more pleasant, which is all Elizabeth wanted, so she allowed the matter to rest.